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7-6-11

Two family tales: The Fatal Lie & the "Ambassador" story

From Dissent the Blog (Sept. 10, 2010):

My mother, who, at age twelve, fled the Russian advance in 1945, has almost nothing from her childhood in Pomerania, aside from a few pictures, a handful of artifacts, and some stories. She left (Western) Germany in 1951, not to return until the 1980s. But, even then, she was not permitted to visit her hometown, which had long been handed over to the Poles. (She finally achieved a visitrecently.)

THE STORY OF THE FATAL LIE:

Mom's aunt Martha, whom she called her mother (her biological mother died in 1934), once told mom the following story. One of the girls of the large (12 children!) Schultz family of Bärwalde, Pommern—namely, Martha's sister Frieda—had a burning desire to move to America. But there was a problem: she was still married to her deadbeat husband, who had ditched her and now lived somewhere in Berlin.

Without a divorce, she would never be permitted to emigrate. So she sought the divorce. Her lawyer told her that, first, she needed to secure Herr Deadbeat’s residential address.

So Frieda, accompanied by another sister (Siss3—these Schultzes seemed always to travel in sororal packs), flew to Berlin and followed whatever leads they had. Eventually, they found a tavern in the vicinity of Herr Deadbeat’s last known whereabouts. Herr D wasn’t there, so they asked some of the patrons about him, but those guys became suspicious, and so Frieda came up with a lie:

“We must get ahold of Herr D, for his wife was in a terrible car accident near the Berlin Airport!”

Well, no, his wife was that very woman, telling der whopper.

My mom doesn’t recall whether Frieda ever located her husband’s address. But she does remember this: “Exactly one month later—not in Berlin, but back home in Stettin (the big city nearer Bärwalde)—she was in a terrible automobile accident. It occurred at the Stettin Airport.

“She was killed.”

I looked at my mom: “Well, I guess that’s a pretty good story. A pretty sad story.”

“Oh yes,” replied mom. “And my mother always told me—‘See! You must never tell such lies! If you do, this is what vill happen to you!’”

“You don’t actually believe that, do you?” I asked.

“Well, that’s what she always said.”

I recalled being told similar instructional tales when I was a kid. Sheesh.

THE AMBASSADOR IN BERLIN:

I asked mom how it came about that this unfortunate aunt had developed a burning desire to move to America.

“Vell, maybe it had to do with the Ambassador.”

“The Ambassador?”

(I’m streamlining this a bit.)

So here’s the second part of this story, which was told to mom by her Aunt Martha (aka “mom”) sixty-some-odd years ago.

At some point, likely in the late twenties, some of the Sisters hatched a plan to go to Berlin to meet the ambassador. The “American ambassador.”

“Do you mean the American ambassador to Germany or Germany’s ambassador to the U.S.A.?”

Mom thought. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I was just a little girl when I heard this story.”

As it turns out, some of my mom’s relatives are named Schurmann. (Edith's grandmother on her father's side was a Schurmann.) The ambassador’s name was Schurmann (almost), too. And so, evidently, these Schultz girls went to Berlin to meet with Ambassador Schurmann, a relative.

I pressed my mom for details, but she didn’t seem to have any. But then she remembered that, according to family lore, a Schurmann had left Germany for America and, at one point, his letters back home simply ceased. He became the "lost Schurmann." Then, much later, the fellow appeared again, only now he was a big shot, a diplomat.

She told me all of this a couple of days ago. Yesterday, I did a little research and soon discovered that the American ambassador to Germany from 1925 to 1930 was one Jacob Gould Schurman (one “n”), who had been born in Canada (like me).

I dug deeper. JG Schurman was a scholar with extensive training in philosophy (that’s my field). Though he was raised on a farm, he was very bright and he won scholarships that allowed him to study in London and then in such places as Heidelberg, Germany. Eventually, he lived in New York, where he pursued an impressive academic career. (He helped found one of the most prestigious journals of philosophy: The Philosophical Review.)

Starting in the early 90s, he became the President of Cornell University, doing much to increase its size and reputation. Evidently, he advocated an ethnically diverse studentry and helped poor students go to college.

He retired from that post in 1920. By then, he had been an American ambassador to several countries, including Greece and China. From 1925 to 1930, he was the U.S. Ambassador to Germany, where he was very well known and well liked, owing in part to his efforts to raise funds to rebuild his alma mater (the U of Heidelberg).

It is likely that the Schultzes would have known about Jacob Gould Schurman, even if he weren’t a relative. He was well-known, and, of course, he had that name.

Last night, I presented this information to my mother, who proceeded to utterly confuse me and herself. I do believe, however, that we have established the following:

• The “sisters” who traveled to Berlin went to see J.G. Schurman, the famous American Ambassador.

• The visit possibly concerned an effort to confirm that Schurman was a relative.

• It is not known whether the confirmation occurred or even whether the sisters managed to meet with Schurman, though it is likely that they did meet with him (since the story was told without any indication that things went badly). (Evidently, Martha was not the sort to lie or to embellish stories. I think she feared bursting into flames.)

THE GENEALOGY OF SCHURMANS:

Today, I did some more research and I found a genealogical site that traces JG Schurman’s pedigree. Here’s the short version:

Jacob Gould Schurman (1854 – 1942) was a (Canadian-born) American educator and diplomat, who served as the President of Cornell University and United States Ambassador to Greece, China, and Germany.

JGS’s father, Robert Schurman, was born on Prince Edward Island (Canada) in 1821.

Robert’s father, Caleb Schurman, was born in 1782 in New Rochelle, New York.

Caleb’s father, William, was born in 1743 in New Rochelle. This means, of course, that he was in his prime during the Revolutionary War. According to “Ancestral Trails” (a genealogy website),

William Schurman, was a Loyalist, farmer, merchant, shipbuilder, miller, cooper, Magistrate and Legislator. A tax list in 1771 shows him owning 5 blacks, 2 of them adults, and 3 girls under the age of 16, William considered himself to be 'English' and not 'American'. He left New York in 1783 and selling his holdings bought a ship and sailed to Shelburne, Nova Scotia, which had been created for 'Loyalists'. William left Shelburne and sailed to Prince Edward Island in the Fall of 1783. He bought land at the head of the Estuary of the Dunk River, which is now Central Bedeque. At one point he owned approx. 10 thousand acres of land encompassing the areas of Wilmot Valley, Norboro, Bedeque and Kelvin Grove.

A slaveholder, eh? Sheesh.

According to AT, William’s father, Jacob Schureman (c. 1699 to c. 1783), was elected Town Assessor in 1739, 1757, 1762 and 1763 in New Rochelle, New York. He was also elected Overseer of Highways in 1756 and 1761.

Jacob’s father was yet another Jacob (spelling his name Schureman and sometimes Schuerman). According to AT, “he was elected a Constable for the Town of New Rochelle in 1703. He was also elected as a Tax Collector in 1717. He was twice married….”

Jacob’s father was Frederick. Again, according to AT,

Frederick Harmenszen Schureman may have been the one, who with his brother Nanning, set out in 1686 to trade with the Ottawa Indians in Upper New York. They were captured and robbed by the French and Indians, carried as prisoners to Montreal and then to Quebec. They did manage to escape and make their way back home. Frederick & Christina belonged to the Dutch Church in New Amsterdam (NewYork City). They may have lived later in Stamford, Ct., but end[ed] up in New Rochelle, New York.

Frederick’s father seems to be Harmen Schuerman (born c. 1590), who was

the assumed founder of the New York-New Rochelle Schuremans. He is found on Manhattan Island in 1649 in the Dutch colony of New Amsterdam. In accordance with prevailing Dutch usage his offspring for a generation or two are given the the Patrionic Harmenszen i.e: Harmen’s son. It is believed that he was born either in Dutch Holland or even possibly Germany, although the Dutch version is probably the correct one. A study was done by a Mr. Wynkoop who had found a reference to a Hermann Scureman who held land near Dortmund, Westphalia about 1300, but no evidence to link him to Harmen.

Well, that’s all that AT has. If Harmen was Dutch, then it is very unlikely that he (and thus Jacob Gould Schurman) are relatives of the Schultzes (and therefore of me). But it appears that Harmen’s nationality is uncertain.

My own research (such as it is) has tended to suggest that the name “Schurman” (with its many spellings) is associated with precisely the part of German-speaking Europe that my mother hails from (Pomerania).

My mother’s account of the “lost Schurman” story—told to her when she was a child, I believe—seems not quite to fit the facts of the J.G. Schurman family story, which involves many generations, not one. She has always been under the impression that the “lost Schurman” left Germany in the late or mid-19th Century.

But it is possible that my mother misremembers the story. Who knows.

Oh. I guess my mom was suggesting that Frieda was inspired to immigrate to America upon meeting her famous relative Jacob Gould Schurman. (Whew!)

Next, I’ll attempt to find a Schurman among the huddled masses who arrived on Ellis Island. It's an unusual name, so I have high hopes.

* * *

Here is a photo, taken in about 1912, of my mother’s family on her dad’s side: the Schultzes of Bärwalde, Pommern (in what was then the far eastern part of Germany, which included Pomerania; see old map).

Karl Schultz and Emilie Schultz [né Schurmann], who are seated, had twelve children (!), but only six are shown here. My mother’s father is the boy at the right. (I think there were only two boys.)

Martha, the woman at the left, and Else, who is wearing the same outfit over at the right, both worked at the time for the Berlin Opera. Perhaps they were home for a visit. Three other sisters are visible. My mother doesn't know their names.

Edith has an older sister, Ilse, who lives in Germany. Ilse was born in 1930. Edith was born in 1933.

Ilse and Edith were the product of the tragically abbreviated marriage ofHermann Schultz(of Bärwalde) andGertrud Sternke(of Wollin), who wed in about 1929.

Gertrude died in 1934, whereupon Ilse continued to live with her father in Stettin. Edith, however, was a baby, and Hermann could not take care of her. She was taken, happily, by her Aunt Martha, who lived in Bärwalde, the home of the elder Schultzes, with her husbandOtto Hänfler.

Hermann died in a loading accident in 1939.

HERMANN'S WILD OATS:

In truth, Hermann had a child before this marriage. Evidently, in his youth, Hermann had sowed some wild oats. The story is that, having evidently sown at least one such oat, he left Bärwalde for his “Wanderschaft,” and when he returned, he discovered that he was a father.

(Wanderschaftrefers to a period of "wandering" that a young man would pursue after apprenticeship in his trade. During these wanderings [for three or four years], he would perfect his craft and learn about other people, places, etc. Wandershaft evolved and gradually died out, but a version of it survived during Hermann's time.)

Hermann apprenticed as a carpenter. It is not clear whether, after hisLehrzeit(apprenticeship), he left for Wanderschaft or if, instead, he joined the army (he would have been seventeen at the end of the Great War). But Edith can recall no stories about Hermann as a soldier.

And so, perhaps around 1920 (Hermann was born in 1901), he discovered that he was a father. The mother was a girl from a diary family in Bärwalde. Edith cannot recall her given name, but she is sure that her surname was “Zemke.”

Reportedly, young Miss Zemke, who named her baby "Gerhard," and who no doubt still lived with her parents, approached the Schultzes about the unfortunate situation. As it happened, one of Hermann's older sisters, Bertha, was unable to have children and agreed to take Gerhard. Edith says that Bertha (and her husband) “paid” for Gerhard, though I suspect that the arrangement was less unseemly than that description might imply.

(A note about chronology: we have good reason to suppose that Gerhard's future wife, Frieda, was born in 1921, give or take a year. Further, it was understood that Gerhard was "a little older" than Frieda. Hence, Hermann likely was born before 1921—perhaps as early as 1918. Quite possibly, Hermann impregnated Miss Zemke while in his late teens.)

Bertha was married to a fellow namedHans Lubdowskywith whom she lived in Bärwalde. (Edith remembers the name as “Ludowsky,” but I can only find Lubdowskys among the records for Bärwalde and environs at that time.) Obviously, Lubdowsky is a Polish name, but Hans was otherwise a German.

Edith recalls that Uncle Hans always had a good and secure job. He was a “Schlosser” by trade, a kind of mechanic who fixed things (in its narrowest sense, it means “locksmith”). Evidently, he had a small business as a Schlosser in Bärwalde. Before his marriage to Bertha, he had worked in the German diplomatic corps—in India of all places. That job entailed wearing a uniform and Edith recalls pictures of Uncle Hans in his impressive regalia. (More on that later.)

Not long after the arrival of Gerhard, the Lubdowskys moved to the grand, old city to the west—Stettin. There, Uncle Hans secured a good job at the harbor. Edith does not recall the position, but she does remember that he was some kind of “boss.” She was under the impression that he was very good at what he did.

Thus it was that Edith’s half-brother, Gerhard, was raised by her (and his) Tante Bertha and her Onkel Hans in Stettin. It seems likely that Gerhard was born between 1918-1921. If so, the Lubdowskys moved to Stettin right after that time: certainly by the mid 20s.

Hermann Schultz also moved to Stettin; he and Gertrud were living there by 1929 or 1930. Hermann remained there until his death in 1939. (Ilse was then taken in by another of Hermann's sisters, but that family fell on hard times and so Ilse eventually wound up living with Martha.)

Oddly, the Lubdowskys never actually adopted Gerhard—adoptions seemed to be highly regulated and difficult back then. Edith speculates that Miss Zemke (or her family?) took advantage of the situation and, over the years, pressured the Lubdowskys to provide “support.” But there is no real evidence that that occurred. Who knows.

You’ll recall that, during her childhood, Edith spent about a month each summer living with her Aunt Bertha in Stettin. (She also regularly traveled to Berlin.) The Lubdowskys lived in a part of the city to the southwest of the city center. Their neighborhood was relatively affluent compared to Hermann and Gertrud’s cheaper digs over on Rosengarten (in the old part of the city near the harbor). Unsurprisingly, Edith recalls many visits and encounters with Bertha, Hans, and Gerhard over the years.

I am under the impression that Hermann made no effort to be with his son. It certainly would have been easy for him to do so.

Gerhard was likely born in the early 20s, which means that he was significantly older than Edith and Ilse. Edith recalls that Gerhard loved her but was always “strict” with her, which suggests that he was very much the older brother, an authority figure. (Gerhard was an adult—with a family—by the end of the war; meanwhile, Edith had just turned twelve.)

A MUSICAL PRODIGY:

The youthful Gerhard turned out to be a musical prodigy. By the time he was five or six years old (in the 20s, living in Stettin), he was playing his accordion on the radio and making other public appearances. Edith remembers that he was very comfortable with his role as a performer. He was outgoing and good looking and very charismatic; he played a musical instrument. As he grew older, this seemed to make him very popular with the girls.

He continued to play that accordion until the end of his life.

Edith tells of a teenaged Gerhard visiting the Hänflers (i.e., Edith’s family) in Bärwalde. He was always willing to play his accordion. But he didn't make a living with it. Edith says that, back in Stettin, Gerhard eventually worked with his father (i.e., Uncle Hans) at the harbor.

GERHARD MEETS HIS MOTHER ONCE:

It seems that Gerhard only met his real mother once.

After she turned Gerhard over to the Lubdowskys, Miss Zemke got married and had a family in or around Bärwalde. After that, she seldom or never contacted the Schultzes or Lubdowskys.

One day—perhaps in about 1941—Gerhard came to Bärwalde for a visit. (He was a young adult but had not yet married or joined the military, recalls Edith.) Tante Martha suddenly said to him, “Let’s visit your mother.” Gerhard didn't seem very interested.

Taking Edith with them, they found their way to a large field in the country. In the middle of the field sat a house in relatively poor repair. It was the home of Miss Zemke and her family.

They could not find her in the house, but, as Edith recalls, Gerhard did finally meet his real mother. She can recall no details. Perhaps Gerhard had no interest in connecting with his real mother.

On the other hand, he always took the nameZemke.

Edith recalls that she went to school in Bärwalde with one of Miss Zemke’s children, a girl. One day, the girl accosted her and declared that she was Edith’ssister. Edith was not pleased.

THE WAR YEARS:

Edith explains that, as a young man, Gerhard exhibited a great enthusiasm for airplanes and he dreamed of becoming a fighter pilot. When the war started in 1939, Gerhard was keen to enlist in the Luftwaffe. Eventually, he did that. It appears, however, that he was married by the time his military career began.

Enter Frieda. Frieda, an orphan, was raised in Wollin—which, coincidentally, was also the birthplace of Edith’s real mother, Gertrud. As a young woman, Frieda had traveled to Stettin where she worked as a domestic. When the circus came to Stettin—a big event—there would be a splashy trapeze act involving a wire strung between the towers of a church. The circus solicited “volunteers,” who would be carried by trapeze artists in some way from tower to tower.

Frieda volunteered. She was chosen. There she was, in the sky, on a wire.

Edith speculates that this peculiar event brought Frieda to Gerhard’s attention. At any rate, the two got together. Edith also speculates that Bertha and Hans were happy to see Gerhard dating a “good” girl for once. He had many girlfriends who were less than perfectly respectable.

Gerhard and Frieda married. I’m guessing that that occurred in 1941 or so.

Gerhard joined the Luftwaffe and became a pilot. But soldiers occasionally went on leave, and Edith has a vivid image of an air raid (in Stettin? Bärwalde?), with Gerhard holding a large fire hose and being thrown around like a doll. Very comical. This might have occurred in 1942 or 1943.

During Gerhard’s military service, Frieda lived with Bertha and Hans. By 1944, the little family included Gerhard and Frieda’s first child,Gerd Udo.

Toward the end of the war—perhaps in late 1944—Gerhard was shot down somewhere over France and then captured. Ultimately he was put to work at a vineyard. The story is that he was treated very well by a fatherly French vintner or farmer, and Gerhard came to love his time in France. When, after a couple of years(?), he was told by authorities that he must return to Germany, he didn’t want to leave. But he did.

Meanwhile, Frieda and the others were experiencing the fall of Germany and its chaotic aftermath. The little family was bombed out twice in Stettin in the years before the war's end. (During the many bombings, they hid in Stettin’s famous underground bunkers, which still exist.)

At some point, they were compelled to live in a kind of makeshift cabin or "garden house."

When the Soviets advanced across eastern Germany (in 1945), Edith and her Tante Martha (along with a few others, including Ilse) managed to flee from Bärwalde by train. They actually passed through Stettin on their way west, barely ahead of the invading Soviet army.

But, for whatever reason, such opportunities did not arise for the family in Stettin. This was very unfortunate, for the Soviet invading army was notorious for raping and pillaging. Uncle Hans had tried to prepare for the invasion by building a secret space in their house created by a false wall. This is where they hid when the Russian soldiers arrived.

But, for some reason, a neighbor who knew about the hiding place squealed on the Lubdowskys, and the Russians found the little family. The upshot: Frieda was gang raped and Uncle Hans was shot and killed. (Hans was perhaps in his fifties.) It is unclear what happened to Bertha, though she survived. Little Gerd Udo, a baby, seemed to come to no harm.

When the soldiers saw Uncle Hans wearing his impressive diplomatic corps uniform in a photograph, they assumed that he was a high official. That was reason enough to execute him on the spot. Frieda, who is still alive, has never shown any interest in describing what happened to her on that day. It is a matter undiscussed.

AFTER THE WAR:

After some time (months?), suddenly, Germans were chased from Stettin (to be replaced by Poles, who had been chased from their homes by the Russians), and so Bertha, Frieda, and Gerd Udo left the city in haste, perhaps by train. They eventually made their way to the part of Germany where Edith and Martha settled—the area to the south of Hamburg. They made contact with Edith's group.

At that point, refugees were forced to live with other families in cramped quarters. Freida had been placed in a room in the country somewhere and she worried that she would never be able to keep Gerhard around if he were forced to live there. He was strictly a city boy, she thought. And so she made a trade with someone in Hamburg.

Eventually, Gerhard arrived from France. He united with his family and they eventually prospered.

Gerhard was very fond of Edith and would take her places in his car. Somehow, Gerhard always had some sort of car, even if it was little more than a converted motorcycle.

He was a real operator and he made money working the black market. He knew how to get things.

Gerhard had a peculiar soft spot for down-and-out prostitutes, whom he would bring home to stay with the family. Edith recalls some embarrassing situations encountering these girls at Gerhard's home.

Nevertheless, Edith recalls that Gerhard was a good provider and he took good care of his family. Bertha continued to live with them until her death in about 1954. (Edith recalls that Bertha and Martha died at about the same time--right about when Annie was born. Edith had left Germany for Canada in 1951.)

Frieda and Gerhard had two other children: Inge and Harold. Harold eventually died in an automobile accident on the autobahn. Inge had several children that Frieda ended up having to raise.

Gerhard was likely unfaithful to Frieda, but eventually the two seemed to settle into happy married life. Gerd Udo seemed to do well. Oddly enough,hisson became a professional accordion player.

Gerhard eventually worked in the harbors. He was a hard worker, says Edith.

He had a bad heart. That killed him in about 1983. (He was in his early sixties.)

Since then, Frieda has visited the Bauers of Trabuco Canyon. She stayed for six weeks!

Not long ago, the Bauers received a letter that referred to Frieda's age. They determined that she was born in 1921.

It seems likely, then, that Gerhard was born at least by 1921.

A few years ago, Gerd Udo's "girlfriend" sent a letter to the Bauers, declaring that she and GU would be visiting. She even described all of the places that the Bauers would be taking them to. But, at the time, Gunther had just experienced his heart incident, and so they told the girlfriend that the trip would have to be put off. The girlfriend did not take this well. She was indignant.

Luckily, Frieda stayed out of that little bit of unpleasantness. The subject of the trip has not come up since.

Evidently, Frieda remains among the living. If so, she is ninety years old. One hopes she is happy.

7-12-11

French kiss: the sad story of baby Peter

You’ll recall that Edith (Bauer) wasraised by her Aunt,Martha Hänfler(né Schultz) and Martha’s husband Otto. Edith regarded the two as her parents and referred to them as “mother” and “father.”

Otto died (of TB) in 1941, when Edith was about eight. And so, starting in ’41, Edith lived only with Martha, although Martha maintained close ties to her family—and people seemed to come and go, living for a time in their house or some portion of it.

AN AMOROUS FRENCHMAN:

Hänfler, who himself seemed to be pretty well-off, had a wealthy brother in Berlin (actually, in the adjoining town of Falkonsee). (Incidentally, the brother was sweet on Martha, but to no avail.) In 1943, brother Hänfler’s 19-or-so-year-old daughter,Edith, became pregnant by a handsome French POW namedPierre Henyon(?). (The name is pronouncedHenYOn, rhyming with “alone.”)

Pierre’s family was wealthy, and they had pull with the Red Cross. The Red Cross arranged for Pierre to receive special privileges as a POW, and so he was “free” to go to work—at the garden of Herr Hänfler’s estate—during the day. Ordinarily, he would report to a POW facility at night. (These prisons were typically placed in city centers to discourage aircraft bombing there.)

Edith (i.e.,ourEdith, EdithBauer) recalls that Pierre was handsome, dark-haired, and of medium build. He spoke little German. Evidently, he was very much in love with Edith Hänfler. (One wonders how much French Edith spoke! My guess:little.)

Naturally, it wouldn’t do for a woman to become pregnant by a French POW—were that circumstance to come to the attention of authorities, said POW would be executed. And so for that reason (among the usual ones), young Edith Hänfler left town before she started to show. She was sent to live way to the east—with Martha and Edith in sleepy Bärwalde, Pommern.

Our Edith—I’ll call her “Sierra” to avoid confusion—remembers Edith Hänfler. She was one of twins. These twins were very attractive and seemed always to travel and do everything together. (Well, noteverything.)

AN EPISODE OF “HOGAN’S HEROES”

When the time came, young Edith went to the nearby town of Neustettin, which had a hospital. Meanwhile, Pierre was a POW in Berlin, but he was determined to be with his love. When Edith gave birth to the child—she insisted that she didn’t know who the father was—Pierre declared that he would steal himself to Neustettin by train.

Naturally, this was a lunatic notion, but Pierre could not be dissuaded, and so brother Hänfler (reluctantly, I hope) helped Pierre with operationLoony Lover: smuggling this non-German-speaking Frenchman from Berlin all the way to Bärwalde and back without alerting the authorities. Edith remembers that a great effort was made to dress Pierre properly for the trip. The plan involved his saying nothing, dressing well, and hiding in the train’s restroom. It was all very French.

(Update: just spoke with mom [Sierra]. She explains that Hänfler did help Pierre to Bärwalde, but the Bärwalde crew—Martha, et al.—were taken completely by surprise when they arrived. I can just see Martha muttering, "Mein Gott!" [if, that is, she's anything like Sierra] It was at that point that the gang worked out the plan to smuggle Pierre into the hospital, several miles down the road. Sierra, who was eleven at the time, remembers helping to dress him up. I asked her, "Who will play Colonel Hogan when they do the miniseries?" She laughed. But she still insists that this yarn is all true.)

The plan worked. They got Pierre into Martha and Edith’s Bärwalde home. The home was large, and its top floor had by then been commandeered by high-ranking Nazi officials (Sierra always refers to them as“those SuperNazis”). Those guys tolerated no funny business. Edith tells of how she and her mother would listen to illegal non-German radio broadcasts at night, but they had to be careful that the “SuperNazis” couldn’t hear them.

So the story—Edith eyewitnessed much of it—is that Pierre was smuggled into their downstairs apartment, and then, later, he was smuggled to Neustettin Hospital to visit with Edith, who had just given birth days earlier. (In those days, new mothers would spend about two weeks in the hospital, recovering.) All of this occurred over a few days, perhaps a weekend. Eventually, Pierre was smuggled back to Berlin and back to his POW facilities. None of this skullduggery was ever detected. Whew.

This yarn is pretty hard to swallow, but Sierra swears that all of it is true. And she’s no liar.

THE TRAGICALLY MATERNAL ELSE ZEMKE:

The baby was named Peter. Naturally, young Edith could not keep Peter—she needed to return to Falkonsee as if nothing was up—and so it was decided that Tante Else (one of the younger Schultz sisters) would take him.

Else had no children but was crazy about them. She might have been just crazy. She had a reputation in town for taking in children from women who could not keep them, but, typically, these schemes would come to grief, for Else would grow very attached to these kids and, inevitably, the authorities would take them away from her.

Else, who lived in Bärwalde, was married to oneGeorg Zemke(no relation toGerhard Zemke). The Zemke family had money, and so Georg had money. He was well liked, but he was also a known gambler and alcoholic—not a good candidate for parenthood.

WhenHermann Schultz(Sierra’s father) died in 1939, someone had to take Ilse, Sierra’s sister (who would have been about nine years old). And so Else and Georg took her. (That's right; Else took Ilse.)

A few years earlier, Else had inherited the family homestead (near the Jewish temple), and that is where Else and Georg made their home. But Georg managed to gamble and drink it all away. They were forced to move to a cheap apartment in town.

So, on the 28th of February, 1944, Peter was born and was handed over to Else, who was thrilled. The arrangement was decidedly unofficial. It was off the books.

* * *

The great German flight to the west—in response to the dreaded Soviet invasion—occurred exactly one year later. Martha, Edith, Else (Georg had died), and little Peter managed to escape by train, ending up in the Munster area south of Hamburg.

Meanwhile, Pierre somehow ended up back in France. He and his family made great efforts to locate Edith and Peter, and, pretty soon, Edith and Pierre were reunited, in France, where they married. They wanted to get their son, Peter, who, of course, was being raised by Else.

The post-war chaos was such that it tookyearsfor Red Cross (and other?) officials to locate Else and Peter. At some point—perhaps in ’47 or ’48—Else received a letter from the Red Cross that alerted her to the efforts of Peter’s parents to have Peter returned to them. Evidently, it was very clear that, legally, Else could not prevent this “return” from occurring.

Oddly, Else never shared these warnings with anyone. As far as anyone knew, Peter was Else’s child, and that was that. Else commenced secretly worrying and fretting about the impending arrival of officials to take her “son” away. Her health suffered. Sometimes, family members would have to take in young Peter, who had become beloved by all. Sierra was particularly fond of him. He was very much a member of the family.

But, in truth, a time bomb was ticking and it was bound to explode in the middle of their lives.

ELSE’S SUICIDE:

Finally, in about 1949, the arrival of Red Cross officials became imminent—though, still, Else kept the fact a secret. Else’s distress increased. She fell apart. She would declare to friends and relatives that “tonight” she would die. She would even tell people what they were going to inherit from her. (She told Sierra that she wanted her to have her wonderful sewing machine.)

Naturally, everyone was concerned.

But then she would not die. Then, suddenly, it became clear that Else was suicidal. Over a period of days, she attempted suicide, unsuccessfully.

It was during these tense “suicidal” days that Sierra, riding her bike to work one morning, stopped by Else’s place to check in on her. (Peter was in the care of others.) Sierra, who would have been sixteen or seventeen, called out to Else, but there was no answer. Sierra used her key to open the door. Everything was still; the place was immaculate, as always. There was a bedroom to the left. The door was closed. She entered it. Else was hanging, motionless, from the curtain rod, her face draped.

It was obvious what had happened.

Sierra was horrified. She does not recall what she did then. After a time, she became clear that she had to get help, but Else had no phone. Sierra managed to ride her bike to the office, which was perhaps a quarter mile away. From there, she called her “boyfriend,” a cop. He said he would get right over there (evidently, all relevant personnel were elsewhere than Bärwalde). Sierra then returned to Else’s. She stayed downstairs, in the basement. Finally, after a half hour or so, her cop boyfriend arrived, but he “brought everyone”: the usual officials and workers for such circumstances. It was overwhelming.

Until just a few days earlier, no one had thought of Else as someone who might commit suicide. But she had kept the fact of Peter’s imminent departure from everyone. Even during the few days after Else’s death, no one understood what had motivated Else’s action.

But, soon, Red Cross (and other) officials made clear that they were about to take Peter to France. At about that time, the family had found Else’s letters and read them; they made clear what she had feared and what had caused her suicide.

BUREAUCRATIC VIOLENCE:

What happened next is odd. Or perhaps not. Even when officials arrived to take Peter—he was taken from Edith and Martha’s household—it was months before Peter was actually taken to France. By then, Peter was about six years old and he was a big part of the lives of Edith, Martha, and others. But he was taken away, and he was moved from orphanage to orphanage while bureaucratic red tape (or something else?) held up his relocation to France (Paris, I believe).

The family was horrified. For a while, Sierra would travel great distances on weekends to spend time with little Peter. Tante Martha was incensed. Given the slowness of the process in which Peter was relocated to France, it seemed to her that those who wanted Peter didn’t seem to want him very badly. She wrote to Peter’s mother, revealing the toll that this action was taking on the family. It even seemed to lead to Else’s suicide, wrote Martha.

Peter eventually arrived in France. After that, the family no longer traveled to visit with him. (One can easily imagine the reasons.) He was simply gone. Forever.

Sierra wrote to him, and he wrote back. But, only a year after Else’s suicide, Sierra emigrated, starting a new life and a family, far far away. Still, she wrote to Peter, and Peter would write to her.

THE NOT-SO-SWEET PETER:

One might suppose that Pierre, the Frenchman, having been raised in a rich family accustomed to privilege, was spoiled. Certainly, the crazy "train to Bärwalde" caper casts an unfavorable light on the fellow. It seemed to Sierra that, at the hands of his parents, Peter, too, had become spoiled. His letters continued to demand of Sierra that she rescue him. He would ask for other things. Even money.

After a while, the Pen Pal Peter didn’t seem like such a nice kid anymore. He was a brat.

* * *

One day in 1956 (perhaps a year or two later), Ilse heard the door knock. When she opened it, she was amazed to find Peter standing before her! He seemed to think that Ilse must take him in. And she did.

Peter remained for a long time. Eventually, Ilse asked, “Isn’t it time for you to go to your home in France?” Peter was old enough to travel the trains by himself (trains and train stations were safe then), but he certainly was not old enough to leave home permanently.

By then, Ilse was married to Franz, who clearly thought that enough was enough—Peter needed to return to France. Ilse and Franz paid for his ticket back home, and off he went.

It isn’t clear what Peter’s parents thought of all this.

Subsequently, Peter would show up on Ilse’s doorstep again, and he’d stay too long again. Invariably, he would spend all of his money—playing around—and use that as an excuse not to buy a ticket home. Ilse is not the sort to put up with such behavior. She caught on. When he arrived, she would demand from him enough money to pay for his return home.

Meanwhile, Peter continued to correspond with Sierra, asking for rescue, for money, etc.

Eventually, Peter married. His wife was a success in the fashion industry, and she made good money. He sent pictures of his two (?) beautiful girls. Later, Sierra would discover that the girls had attended a Catholic school in Orange County (probably Tustin's Saint Jeanne de Lestonnac School)! She had had no idea!

Peter would occasionally show up on Ilse’s doorstep—with his entire family. Ilse would “go nuts,” says Sierra.

By then, the Sierra-Peter correspondence had come to an end. All information about Peter came indirectly through Ilse (who, incidentally, is no longer able to communicate). It seems to Sierra that Peter eventually divorced his wife and returned to bachelor life—and to womanizing, etc.

And he continued to show up occasionally on Ilse’s doorstep.

* * *

The last “Peter” story related to Sierra by Ilse comes from the late 90s—a few years before Ray’s death, says Sierra (Ray died in August of 2001). Peter suddenly called Ilse, announcing,“I’m back in Germany. Germany is my home. I’m a German, not a Frenchman.”

That was remarkable enough. But then he asked her, “Can I stay with you?”

Ilse being Ilse, said “no.” She had moved, and so Peter did not have Ilse’s new address.

And she did not volunteer it.

7-16-11

“With you, Lili Marleen”: Schultzean sagas

Genealogically and otherwise, the least understood side of the Bauer family is Ma’s (Edith’s). That’s because her people were from Pomerania and elsewhere in the east, and, at war’s end, that part of Germany was dominated by the Soviets (Poland, East Germany). Most of Pomerania was “cleansed” of Germans—it was “given” to the Poles—and German refugees ended up all over the place.

In truth, in many instances, we simply don’t know the fate of fairly recent family members.

Virtually nothing (yet) is known about Edith’s mother (Gertrud Sternke) and her family in Wollin. We know the names of her parents. That’s about it.

Much more is known about Edith’s father (Hermann Schultz) and his family.

What follows is based on a conversation I (Roy) had with Edith on July 15, 2011.

1. HERMANN: As you know, Edith’s father,Hermann Schultz, was born in Bärwalde, in 1901, and died in Stettin in 1939. His parents wereCarl Friedrich Wilhelm Schultz(c. 1855 – March 25, 1925) andEmilie Albertine Henriette Schultz(néSchurmann) (c. 1855 – Jan 31, 1935). Since Edith was born in late 1933, she couldn’t have known either of these grandparents. Though she has no memory of them, she remembers family stories about them.

EMILIE: Edith says that there are lots of stories about her grandmother, Emilie (emeelya), and her tightfisted ways. Martha, Edith’s adopted mother, would tell a story from her school days, perhaps the late 1890s. Her teacher told students to get two pennies from their parents to pay for schoolbooks, but Martha, knowing how her mother hated to part with money, feared asking for it. Finally, the teacher demanded that Martha get the money, and so, finally, Martha asked her mother for it. Emilie was indeed incensed, and she would not cough up the pennies at first. Finally, she relented, getting the pennies and angrily tossing them under a bed. In those days, floors were covered with a layer of white sand, and so little Martha had to climb under the bed and sift through the stuff to find those pennies.

Like all old married couples, Edith and Manny have their long-standing disagreements and rhetorical practices and routines. It has long been Manny’s practice simply to refer to Edith as “Emilie” when, in his estimation, Edith exhibits tightwaddery or too great a concern about spending. Naturally, Edith bristles at that reference.

KARL: Edith seems to know even less about Emilie’s husband, Karl. He was a fisherman. The region in which they lived—it is very beautiful, essentially rural—has many smallish lakes and ponds, and he would fish in them and then supply vendors with fish. Evidently, Emilie herself sold fish, although it is unclear to what degree she did so.

The one Schultz family picture (c. 1912) with which I am aware shows Emilie and Karl with six of their twelve (yes,twelve) children. Karl is seated and holding a small dog for which, obviously, he has great affection. So Karl couldn’t have been all bad. (No doubt, he was much more than that.)

* * *

Edith has incomplete knowledge of the twelve Schultz children.

2. ELSE: As I explainedpreviously, Else lived in Bärwalde (until the exodus of ‘45) with her husband Georg. When Hermann died in 1939, Edith’s sister, Ilse went to live with Else and Georg in Bärwalde. Later (in 1944), it was Else who took in Peter, the product of the highly inconvenient union of a relative (Martha’s husband’s niece) and a French POW named Pierre. When Peter was about to be taken from her by the authorities (in 1950), Else committed suicide.

Earlier, I believe that I was told that the two adult sisters that appear in the 1912 photograph—and who seem to be wearing the same costume—are Martha (on the left) and Else (on the right). These two, I was told, worked at the time with the Berlin opera.

I mentioned this to Edith, but she is now unsure. Yes, that’s Martha, who was working in Berlin. But is that Else? Maybe so. But Edith doesn’t recall Else ever going to Berlin. Perhaps this is another sister (at right, in the picture)?

Else, says Edith, was one of the younger sisters, though she was older than Hermann, who seems to have been the baby of the family. And so Else was born in the 1890s. Perhaps the early 1890s. (Martha was born in 1890.)

3. FRIEDA: Frieda, died in an automobile accident near Stettin airport in the early 30s. (SeeThe Fatal Lie.) At the time of her death, she was seeking a divorce from her dead-beat husband (living somewhere in Berlin) so that she could pursue immigration to the U.S. Possibly, her desire to move to the U.S. was sparked by contact with a Schurman (Emilie’s maiden name was Schurmann) who was then the U.S. Ambassador to Germany.

4. BERTHA: Bertha was Edith’s godmother. As I explainedpreviously, in about 1920, Bertha took in Hermann’s son Gerhard, the unplanned product of his brief pre-marriage relationship with a local girl (Edith Zemke of the dairy Zemkes).

5. ALVIN: Hermann’s older brother Alvin lived in Stettin. When (in about 1944) he was bombed out, he moved to the island ofRügenoff of Germany’s northeast coast. There, he got a job in a police department.

Edith knows little of his fate, though it appears that he contacted sister Ilse once in the late fifties.

As you know, Edith and her family escaped the Soviet advance (in February, 1945) and settled in the west, nearMünster. That is where Edith’s sister Ilse lived when Edith emigrated in 1951. Soon thereafter, the German government pursued a program of population redistribution in order to improve employment, and so Ilse and her husband Franz moved to the Rhine area.

At one point, perhaps in 1955, Manny had lined up an electrician’s job for Franz inKemano, British Columbia. Franz and Ilse were planning to immigrate to Canada (despite having earlier attempted to discourage Edith from emigrating!), but then Franz “got drunk,” fell down the stairs, and hit his head, sustaining a serious injury. That nixed the immigration plan. Eventually, Franz landed a good job in Germany.

Edith’s recollection of these facts was necessary, evidently, for her to remember just when Uncle Alvin called. It must have been some time in the late fifties, certainly after Roy’s birth (in 1955). He suddenly called Ilse one day to ask if he could live with her. Ilse had to say no, maybe because she and Franz simply didn’t have the room then, what with the birth of Wolfgang (53?) and then Tina (56?). We simply don’t know if Alvin was still married or any other circumstance. Edith knows nothing of his fate, beyond this report.

HILCHEN: Edith recalls that Alvin had two children, including a son—and a daughter, Hilchen, who was older than Edith.

Edith remembers that Hilchen had married in Stettin in a place for military officers—perhaps early in the war. Evidently, she had a thing for Naval officers.

Somehow, after the war, she found her way to the west, to the area in which Edith and her group had settled starting in 1945. She lived with her son (I guess her husband had died in the war). She sold corsets door-to-door and had lots of customers.

Just before Edith left for Canada, Hilchen would visit often and Edith would share a bed with her. Edith would go dancing with her. (I suppose Hilchen could have been in her late twenties.)

Everything was fine, but then something changed all that. There were many American soldiers around, especially during the Berlin airlift, and Hilchen liked to hang around these soldiers. There was a house—not a bordello, but a private house where American servicemen would party and hook up with local girls.

Edith new a guy who drove a taxi, and he would sometimes drive these soldiers to and from this house. Edith would come along just for fun—not for the return trips, when the soldiers were drunk, but the drive to the party house. No one ever made a move on Edith; they were polite, at least when they were still sober.

The taxi driver was the same guy who had let Edith drive his car, resulting in an accident (more on that later).

Well, Hilchen would go to these parties. When Martha and Else found out about this, they told Hilchen in no uncertain terms that she must not continue. But she continued to go to them, and so Martha and Else told Hilchen “Do not come back.” She had crossed the line, and that was that. She was cut off from the family.

Edith doesn’t know what became of Hilchen or her son, though she has the sense that they continued to live in the area in which Ilse lived, and there may have been some contact.

6. CARL? ALBERT?Another brother—Edith is hazy about his name—was employed bySiemensof Berlin. Indeed, he had received an award for his fifty years with that company. Edith thinks that occurred before the end of the war, and so he must have been born at least by the mid 1870s. He was the oldest son. Edith remembers that he would visit Bärwalde, and he had something to do with a water system there. Perhaps he was an engineer.

He, too, was married. Edith doesn’t know what happened to him or his wife or kids (assuming he had any).

7. ANNA. Anna, the oldest sibling (next came Bertha), lived in Berlin. She was Ilse’s godmother and the two were very close. She had one son who was an excellent and well-known soccer player. One day, during play, he suffered angina. The next day, he was dead. He was in his twenties. This occurred in about 1939.

Anna’s home in Berlin was bombed, but not everything was destroyed.

Edith remembers that she died—perhaps in the early fifties—and Ilse went to pick up all of her belongings. (Don’t know where.)

Edith remembers a beautiful cup and saucer that her stepfather, (uncle) Otto Hänfler, had made (he had worked with the famous porcelain maker, Meissen). Ilse still has it.

* * *

8.MARTHA. And, of course, there's Martha, who was born in 1890 and died in 1954. As you know, she was married to Otto Hanfler and became Edith's adopted mother in 1934. Edith has always referred to her as "my mother."

* * *

Well, eight out of twelve ain't bad, I guess. I'll see what more I can dig up about Schultz siblings.

* * *

THE HORRIBLE ACCIDENT. Edith recalls one horrific story that concerned the Schultz family. She knew nothing about it until Ilse related it to her during a visit to the U.S. in the 1980s.

One of the aunts—Anna perhaps—was visiting the Hänflers (i.e., Martha, Otto, and Edith) in Bärwalde. This must have been some time starting in 1933, because it happened in the Hänfler house that was built that year.

The Hänflers had a barn (says Edith) that housed a Waschküche (a laundryroom). That laundry comprised a big tub built into bricks, which one could heat with a fire. One “cooked” one’s laundry and then used the washboard, etc.

Well, the visiting aunt—Anna—had a young child who somehow fell into the water and boiled to death. He was buried right there in Bärwalde.

It is possible that the child was Bertha’s. Edith isn’t sure. This story was one that people did not like to tell.

* * *

I asked, had any of these Schultzes served in World War I? Well, her uncle Otto Hänfler had. He died ofbone TB, which ultimately was caused by a wound he received during the war. But of course, he wasn’t a Schultz.

Edith assumes that some of these Schultz boys served in the war, but she has no information about that. She mentions, too, that at least one of these Schultz guys worked for Siemens, and it is possible that they received an exemption from war service because of that employment. Siemens was heavily involved in production or engineering for the war.

* * *

OTTO HÄNFLER’S INCAUTIOUS OPINERY. What about the Schultzes’ politics? Again, Edith reminded me that Otto Hänfler was a self-avowed “Marxist,” as were some of his friends, most of whom were well-educated, like Otto. But she was unaware of any Schultz who identified himself or herself as a Marxist. They did not seem to be particularly political.

Edith recalls that Otto had a beautifully furnished room in which he would converse with his friends. It had a marvelous round copper table and impressive upholstered chairs. There were copper ashtrays, too, for the men smoked. The visitors were professional men: doctors, lawyers, the police chief, and so on.

In those days (in Germany, in the thirties), one could have a position of authority only if one was a member of the Nazi Party. And so many of these men were Nazis in fact, if not in how they actually thought and acted.

I reminded Edith that her mother (Martha, Otto’s wife) had many Jewish friends. Yes, says Edith, they were the ones in town with money. Martha knew many of them because of her trade. She made fancy curtains and fixed frilly shirts; she did sophisticated cleaning of fabrics; and so she had lots of Jewish customers. She got to know them well.

Edith reminded me that many Jews were among the powerful and important people of their town. This elite—Nazis, Jews—comprised a network of friends.

For some reason, the fate of Jews was quite different in Bärwalde than in other places. There still were Jews living and working in Bärwalde into 1944, though there was increasing reason to worry, and by late 1944, all local Jews had left to Switzerland and perhaps other places for their own safety.

Edith recalled one Jewish store closing. She was there for the going away party. She was all dressed up and people fussed over her. This would have been in 1943 or even 1944. (You’ll recall that a Jewish friend gave Edith [well, Martha] a beautifully crafted piece of cloth in the form of a Star of David for Edith’s baptism.)

Edith says that she cannot recall a case in which Jews were actually rounded up and taken away in Bärwalde. They all left, but they did so on their own accord, though anticipated worsening conditions were the reason for their departure.

Otto made no effort to hide or disguise his political views, which were harsh toward the Nazis and otherwise unacceptable. His friends—including Nazis—would tell him, “Otto, dial it back. We won’t be able to protect you forever!” But he never did that. He was loudly opinionated to the very end (in 1941).

HÄNFLER’S DEATH FROM TB: How did Hänfler die? It was a long time coming. It was just a matter of time. He got worse, was bed-ridden, and then he died. Before that, he would sometimes get better, and walk around with a cane, and then he’d get worse. Then he’d get better again.

He never lapsed into unconsciousness. Edith doesn’t remember the last time she spoke with Uncle Otto.

Her “mother,” Tante Martha, was very superstitious and feared death. She was very afraid when Otto died. Evidently, Otto and Martha had made some sort of agreement that he would leave a sign, and when Martha saw a thick fog outside her window, she accepted that as the sign from beyond the grave. She would cling to Edith. Edith and Martha would sleep together, holding each other tight. (Edith has always harbored certain old-world superstitions and fears, though they do not arise often. She is very sensitive to “the spooky.”)

One night after Otto died, Martha had left the windows open, and a bat flew into the house. “Just stay here so I can hold onto you,” said Martha.

Edith explains that the funeral home refused to take Otto’s body owing to his TB. Otto’s brother in Berlin—possibly, his name was Alvin—arrived to help. It was May and it was a problem keeping a dead body in the house for days on end. Martha didn’t like the brother. Later, he showed interest in Martha, but that went nowhere.

It became necessary to move out of the house, and so Martha and Edith stayed with one of Martha’s sisters at least one night. The entire house had to be disinfected. That left a terrible smell for days, maybe weeks. There was tremendous fear about TB.

I asked, “given that you were regularly exposed to Otto, wasn’t that a problem for you going to school?”

Yes, it was a problem. On another occasion, Edith explained to me that it was necessary for her to be checked out by doctors often. She got these terrible shots. One time, she so feared a shot that she fled the hospital and sat on a park bench somewhere. Everybody had to look for her.

The Hänflers wanted to adopt Edith, but that was impossible because of Otto’s TB. The law forbade children moving into homes where TB was present.

I asked, “When Otto died (in 1941), was it then possible for her to adopt you?”

It seems clear that, by 1942, Martha was attempting to do just that, for she took steps to attain papers establishing Edith’s parentage, etc. But somehow “we never got the chance” to follow through with the adoption.

The law was such that, after Otto’s death, some acceptable adult male had to become Edith’s official guardian if Edith was to continue to live with Martha. The head of the fire department gladly filled that role. He was a friend of the family. Likely a Nazi.

“I was called ‘Hänfler’ in school,” says Edith. “But I never actually became a Hänfler, legally, though I was certainly regarded as a Hänfler in town.”

Lots of the important men in town helped them when Otto died.

They had protected Otto when he was alive.

* * *

THE NAZIBAUSKEFAMILY:

I asked again about this odd circumstance that both Jews and non-Jews were important people in the town and they were all friends, despite the membership of several of these men in the Nazi Party.

Yes, says Edith, they were all friends. Some of these Nazis probably did the same for these Jewish families that they had done for Otto.

As the war progressed, more and more families were bombed out of their homes, and it became necessary to distribute people in other people’s homes. The Hänflers had a relatively large (and impressive) home, and so the top floor was given over to another family.

As it happened, the family who rented upstairs were named “Bauske,” and Herr Bauske was one of Hitler’s intimates. Naturally, they were very pro-Nazi, and Frau Bauske was quite gung ho.

Herr Bauske was always out of town. In fact, Edith wonders if she ever saw the man. Though he had no official position in town, he was feared and perhaps admired because of his high Nazi rank and influence.

The Bauskes had two kids, a boy and a girl, whom Edith remembers as teenagers. Perfectly friendly, she said. They went away to special schools for the sake of their future careers.

The Bauskes seemed very nice, but the mother was very Nazi. Martha and Edith loved the popular song “Lili Marleen,” and would listen, illegally, to the foreign radio stations that would play it at night. (See lyrics below.) “We had to be careful listening to that,” says Edith. Frau Bauske once told Martha, “I heard you again, last night, listening to that. If you keep this up, I’ll have to turn you in.”

For some reason, Martha was never very concerned, but she did make a big effort to muffle the sound of the radio by pulling a thick comforter over them. There they were, in the night, huddled under a blanket….

Martha was the sort of person who got along with everyone. (Even Nazis.) “She was very kind.”

I reminded Edith that, in some pictures of their Bärwalde home (see), one can see a small sign on the fence. It is dominated by a six-sided (or pointed) star, but the writing on it is illegible. Edith insists that the sign declared Herr Bauske’s importance in the Nazi hierarchy. She seems to doubt that the symbol was a Star of David. It was some sort of Nazi symbol.

Edith can’t recall when the Bauskes moved in. It seems to her that they were always there. (It is unlikely that they would have moved in before 1940. Edith would have been six or seven then.)

I asked, “When it became necessary to escape to the west, what became of these Bauskes?” But Edith just doesn’t know. It now occurs to her that Frau Bauske wasn’t well-liked. She always “mouthed off” her Nazi beliefs.

THE LAST DAYS OF BÄRWALDE:

At some point, the Hänfler home was full of soldiers. The road from the east—Neustettin and beyond—went right past their house, which was the first house to be encountered as one entered town from the east. Edith remembers many covered wagons full of refugees, who would often stay with them. There was much to eat, for there were soldiers (“Die Bergungsgruppe”?) whose job it was to collect all valuables, including livestock, and to move it all to the west. And so there was plenty of food stored behind the house.

Edith seems to be thinking of the last months before their exodus. She says she remembers the snow on the ground. When Martha and Edith finally headed west, it was February, and if there was no snow, it was nevertheless freezing and icy.

At one point, Edith explains that the people who stayed over were all civilians, and yet she also says that her house was full of soldiers. In part, the explanation is likely that, earlier in the war, the soldiers did commandeer their property and used much of it to store munitions, tanks, canons, etc. (The Hänfler home was in an excellent strategic position relative to invasion from the east.) It is likely, too, that some soldiers were billeted there.

As the need for retreat from the Russians grew, it is likely that most who stayed at the house were civilians, passing through.

Edith remembers the last few hours and minutes at the house. Martha was desperately in search of important papers: the deed to the house, birth certificates, etc. She simply could not find them, and everybody was looking. But the soldiers kept saying, “You’ve absolutely got to get these little girls out of here!” So, finally, they just left, leaving much important documentation behind.

The soldiers somehow provided Martha and Edith (or perhaps their larger family group) with special space on the train. Martha and Edith always huddled together, slept together.

Peter, Ilse, Else, Georg, Martha, Edith—that was the group. And then there were two subgroups: Martha/Edith and Peter/Ilse/Else/Georg. But the two groups remained more or less together during the entire exodus, ending in Münster. (Largely, this meant remaining on the open car of a train.)

“We had a small wagon and carried what we could on it,” says Edith. It was something like the Radio Fliers that American kids had, but with broader sides.

I asked: Did Georg take charge? “He probably did in his group, but Martha and I were our own group. Ilse stayed with Tante Else.”

The train trip to Münster took maybe three days. The Russians bombed and strafed the trains much of the way. “We were two trains,” recalls Edith. “When we got to Stettin, the other train, which was right behind ours, was just blown up, killing everyone on it. (It sounds like it was a dive-bomber attack.)

“InStargard, too, we were attacked. There were these covered trains off to the side on another track. At one point, I was so scared, I ran over many tracks to get to these box cars. I hid under them. There were bombs coming down from high altitude bombers. And then Russian planes would come down and shoot at people. I was so scared and hid under the boxcar. Later, we discovered that those boxcars were full of munitions. We were very lucky to survive.”

I asked: Was there bombing going on in Bärwalde? Yes, there were Russian dive-bombers, and planes that would shoot at people. She remembers a particular attack involving maybe a dozen planes.

“They shot our kitchen to pieces, right through the window. We had beautiful terrazzo tiles, and murals. That was all shot up.” (In fact, ultimately, the invading Soviets burned down the house.)

When they got to Münster (says Edith)—a trip that took perhaps three days, with much stopping during air attacks—they were taken to a large gymnasium, which was equipped with outhouses. People lay on the floor, which may have been concrete, for days. Eventually, officials (perhaps Red Cross personnel) came around and assigned people rooms throughout the cities and countryside. Possibly some of the people in charge were those who were given duties during the war to organize people in air raids, etc. For instance, Uncle Hans, who had lived in Stettin, had that kind of role: he was responsible for two buildings of people and their safety. During the Nazi era, says Edith, people were very organized in that way. Lots of people were also trained in first aid.

In Münster, there were officials who went around from house to house to determined the number of residents, where there was room, etc. Careful records were kept.

* * *

THEIR NEW HOME:

Says Edith: “We were taken to a house owned by a woman. That woman did not want us there at all. She started crying about how she didn’t want anybody in her home. And so Martha started crying about how we weren’t wanted. Martha announced that, “if people don’t want me, I’m not going to stay,” and so we took our stuff on the little wagon and went outside, just standing in the cold.”

For a couple of days, they lived out in a garden or perhaps a shed there. But then a woman across the street came by and told them that they could stay with her. Her name was Frau Meyer. Martha and Edith lived with the Meyer family for years.

Frau Meyer’s husband was an important Nazi who had been arrested, and she seemed to assume that he would be prosecuted and then executed. She was waiting for that, but it never happened. Eventually, Herr Meyer came home, and that was that. Meanwhile, Frau Meyer lived with her son and little girl there in Münster.

Martha and Edith lived in a small room with a bed upstairs. “We cooked with her in her kitchen,” says Edith. “She was very nice to us.”

As it so happened, nearby, Marianna’s sister lived in a room next door or across the street. (Marianna, who was Edith’s age, later became Edith’s closest friend.) A coincidence.

At some point, American soldiers showed up. The front line of the allied invasion seemed to be trucks. The truck drivers were black. Their job seemed to be to seize four-plex and duplex apartments, which suited military needs. Luckily, Martha and Edith were living in a single home, and so they could remain in it. Whew!

THE STORY OF EDITH AND THE CAR WRECK:

Says Edith, “I was fifteen or so. I was with two older guys. I had just started working down at city hall (for her Lehrzeit or apprenticeship period). So I worked at first in this old building. The “director” of my school happened also to be my math teacher. He lived in that old building and took care of it.

“He became a kind of father to me, and his wife became a kind of mother. They had one son, Karl Heinz, who was very much in love with Mariana. He was maybe 17—or even a couple of years older. He was a friend of mine, and we often talked about Mariana.

“When work was over, I had to have the boss’s bike ready. I’d put air in tires, that sort of thing. I’d receive him in the morning, and get his bike ready in the evening.”

“And so I would see these two guys all the time: they were both named ‘Karl Heinz.’ One was Karl Heinz [L?]. The other was Karl Heinz [H?]. Both were friends.

“This second Karl sometimes worked as a taxi driver. He would take American GIs to these party houses. I would go along just for fun sometimes. I was never along for return trips, because these soldiers would get drunk. They never touched me; they were always well-behaved around me. But of course they were not yet drunk.

“These two guys came to my office in a car at the end of work and asked,‘Do you want a ride?’I used to go to movies with this second Karl, but nothing was going on. We were just friends.

“So they asked if I wanted a ride. They said,‘Come on in,’and so I did. I slid in and then said,‘Just move over, I’ll drive.’Of course, I had no idea how to drive. I was just showing off in front of these guys.

“'Let her drive,' said one Karl to the other. We were in this little village with nothing going on; no traffic. So it was pretty safe for me to drive, considering. The car was a BMW, but nothing fancy.

“I started to drive. I said,‘You’ve got to put the gear in for me because I’m not used to this particular model.’I was just lying of course. I gave it some gas and off we went. There was no problem, we just went down the road. We got to where I lived, but I didn’t know how to stop, so I just kept going. I had to make a turn or two.”

I asked Edith: surely they could tell that you didn’t know how to drive!

“Sure, they must have known.

“We went through a gate to a famous woodsy area. It was very beautiful and romantic; people wrote poems about it. But, those days, it was being used by soldiers for infantry training, and so it was often closed for that purpose. But at that moment the gate was open, and so I drove right in.

“Then something must’ve happened. I was distracted or something. Maybe surprised by an animal in the road. Not sure. But I suddenly lunged the car straight into a tree. I don’t remember that, but, evidently, I went right through the windshield, which was not safety glass. So I was cut pretty badly, especially on my forehead. Meanwhile, thank God, these two guys were unhurt.

“I was a bloody mess. They grabbed me and decided to run me to the nearest farmhouse, so they each grabbed an arm and off we went, running.

“I was bleeding so bad. There were no homes there, nothing. Finally, we came across a farmhouse with a water pump. They pumped all this water over my head and cleaned away the blood. My forehead looked pretty bad. I didn’t live far from there, and so they next helped me to my home. My parents [by then, Martha had remarried] were not home. I knew that vinegar would stop bleeding, and there was a bottle of concentrated vinegar, which they proceeded to pour into my wounds. It burned horribly. But the bleeding did stop. These Karls phoned the doctor and maybe the ambulance. This was near Soltau. “So my wounds were burning like hell, but the ambulance (no doctor) finally showed up and took me to the nearest hospital. There, doctors worked on my head for hours, pulling out slivers of glass. They got as much as they could, but I still find glass under the skin there sometimes.

“I remained in that hospital, recuperating, for maybe a month.”

I asked: so were your parents angry with you? And what about these Karls?

“Yes, my parents were angry with me. But they got over it. People were amazed that I had this bad accident. They’d come around and ask me about it.

“The car was actually owned by the Meyers—the people we had stayed with for years. Herr Meyer and his partner had purchased a “Schlosserei”—a kind of repair shop. And one of these Karls worked there. The car was associated with that business.

“The car was a total loss. The insurance people came to the hospital to interview me. I wasn’t supposed to say that I was driving the car. I had to say, ‘I can’t remember who drove.’ But they had no reason to suppose that I had been driving, and so they basically never even ask me. Why would I drive? Both windshields broke, and so there was no way to tell who was sitting in the driver’s seat.

I asked: Did you literally go through the windshield?

“Yes, apparently. I don’t recall. I’m told that I literally went through it. I had lots of cuts all over, but they weren’t deep. Except for the one in my forehead.

“In the end, the insurance paid off and that was the end of that matter. There were no hard feelings from anyone. Those two guys never admitted that I drove. They couldn’t.”

I suggested that they made a big mistake letting her drive.

“Yes, and they knew it. But they couldn’t say anything. All was forgiven. Nobody was angry with me. Everyone wanted to hear my story. I had this awful scar. I covered it with my hair, which I had lots of in those days.”